


Fever To The Form

by theaa



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, not totally explicit though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaa/pseuds/theaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s five in the morning when he makes it back to his apartment. Karen is sleeping in the bedroom. He can hear her breathing, soft and light, revealing that she’s only just dropped off. [Established relationship] (This is a transfer from tumblr for the AO3 crowd)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever To The Form

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if you've seen this before but I thought I'd put this up here as well since people on tumblr seemed to like it so much. In other news, I'm so sad about the wait we've got for season 2 now. Ah well... onto some Karedevil.

It’s five in the morning when he makes it back to his apartment. Thankfully the injuries this evening are light. He had done nothing but scare some muggers, dissuade some burglars, ducked a punch or two. Got in a few of his own. The new suit keeps a lot out, and tonight there’s a barely a scratch on him. Matt savours the moment for what it is – a rare occurrence.

Karen is sleeping in the bedroom. He can hear her breathing, soft and light, revealing that she’s only just dropped off. She was probably trying to wait up for him. She murmurs in her sleep, something incomprehensible even to his sharp ears. She sounds agitated.

As he strips off his suit and places it back in the box he hears her roll over, the sheets tangling in her lithe limbs. He considers taking the couch and letting her sleep but she might panic if she woke without him there, so he creeps into his room and slides under the covers. Her body emanates warmth, contrasting with the coldness of her feet poking against his shins.

He hears her breathing catch and her eyelashes flutter and knows she’s awake.

‘Hey,” he whispers.

“Matt?” her voice is thick with sleep, sluggish and confused.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Her arms reach out to touch him, nimble fingers running over the scars on his chest, smoothing over his bicep, reaching to touch his cheek. Matt knows what she’s doing – checking for injuries.

“I’m okay. It was a quiet night,” he tells her, and Karen sighs in return, her hands sliding back down to rest on his chest.

“I was worried,” she mumbles. “You were gone a long time.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she concedes. Matt can tell that’s it not, and it never really will be, she’ll always be worried, but Karen understands what he’s doing. This conversation doesn’t mean much except ‘I love you.’

Karen has already started to curl up again, bringing her legs up under her. She sleeps below the pillow, usually, her head resting on his arm or chest, or just the mattress when she’s completely curled into him. She shuffles into that position now, her soft hair spilling over his arm. Matt shapes himself around her, tucks his body to match hers until she is completely enclosed by him. He knows she feels safest like this. A minute later her breathing evens out, her eyelashes stop twitching and she falls asleep, properly this time.

He thought he was too wired from the night to follow her, but it doesn’t take long for his vision to fade from fiery red to velvet black.

Xxx

He wakes with her hair in his mouth.

He brushes it away and gets a waft of vanilla in its wake. Karen is still curled into him, but her limbs are a little looser now, her arm looped over his waist.

Her breath fans across his chest, slow and steady. With his free hand he finds his phone and taps it to make it tell him the time. The woman’s robotic voice informs him that it’s 9am, which is later than he thought. As it is, the phone has woken Karen and she stretches away from him like a cat – he can hear her bones creaking and popping as she yawns.

“What time is it?”

“After nine.”

Karen inhales sharply. “Shit, Foggy will be waiting for us.”

From the other side of the bed Karen is still sending waves of heat his way. Her skin smells of the vanilla he’s come to associate with her, mixed with the musk of his sheets and himself. Her voice is sweet and sleepy, a little raspy. Sexy.

“He can manage without us for a day,” he decides.

He can feel Karen looking at him and imagines her face is caught between guilt and happiness. The muscles in her jaw jump.

“Won’t he notice the both of us not turning up? And suspect something?”

“So? I tell him I had a rough night and you tell him you’re ill or something and can’t make it in.”

Keeping their relationship from Foggy was something they both decided would be best, to keep things uncomplicated in the workplace for her part, and on his part, Matt kept on insisting that the less people who knew the better, in case anyone could trace him back to her and hurt her. He insisted that included Foggy. His best friend would never let it slip intentionally, but even having the two of them as friends felt like a risk some days.

It was just for now, Karen argued. Matt knew she felt dirty, keeping it a secret, but until he became a little less paranoid about the possibility of her becoming a pawn used against him, a secret it would be.

They leave their phone calls twenty minutes apart and Karen does her best fake cough down the line and Matt thinks Foggy probably buys it. He feels guilty too, but nothing about this is malicious and it’s nowhere as big as keeping his other identity hidden, he reasons.

When they’re done and have bought themselves the day together, Karen struggles out of the silk sheet entrapment and her bare feet hit the bedroom floor.

“Where are you going?” he whines.

“I’m going for a shower,” she replies, and he can sense the smile in her voice. “Maybe you should try it.”

A minute later and he hears the spray hit the cubicle. Karen hums in the shower, snatches of everything from songs in the top40 to nursery rhymes.

His mind wanders while he listens, to not so very decent places. He imagines her running her fingers though her long hair, fingers massaging her scalp, the rivulets of water between her small breasts, water dipping between her thighs, the heady scent of clean skin, imagines licking the water from the pockets collecting in her collarbones.

When Karen emerges, a towel rapped around her chest, he is painfully aware not only of her, but the tightness in his boxers.

He ducks in after her and the water is still warm and it’s a blessing and curse, he muses.

Xxx

Karen has breakfast prepared when he emerges from the bedroom, in a pair of jeans, sans the shirt.

She slides the plate of scrambled eggs across to him and flips through the New York Times as they eat, tutting at some of the stories, murmuring agreements with some others. She reads snippets out to him for his comment, sometimes entire columns and in return, sometimes, he just listens to the lilting tone of voice and can do nothing but grunt when she comes to the end.

She carries the plates to the sink when they’re done and Matt follows her, moving towards the clink of china, the humming under her breath.

His arm snakes around her middle, pulling her against him and Karen giggles, a smile stretching across her face. He leans down to find the juncture of her neck and shoulder and places a kiss there, gentle but insistent until Karen twists in his arms. She catches his chin in her palm and steadies his face enough to bring it to down to hers.

They kiss like teenagers in the back of a movie theatre, here by his kitchen sink, until they’re kissing like teenagers back in his bedroom, rolling on top of the silk sheets. Karen’s nails scratch at his back, little half moon marks that will fade in a few seconds. The transience of the wounds she gives him, the bruising kisses, the tiny little bite marks, it’s a different sort of pain to everything else. It’s beautiful. It’s a reminder of that with her, nothing painful can last all that long.

She flips them over so she is straddling him, he can feel her weight pressing against his pelvis and then her tongue is tracing patterns on his chest, her fingers fumbling with his belt. She drags his jeans off him and they fall with a thud to his floor. Her fingers creep upwards again, skimming his sides. The bed dips as she braces her hands on either side of his head, and Matt feels the ends of her hair tickle his chest before her lips re-attach to his neck. Their hips rock together and Karen breaks, away, her breathing laboured and uneven, rasping loudly. He can’t hear anything outside of his apartment anymore, nothing outside of her.

He pushes her gently back against the mattress and hovers over her, fingers making quick work of the buttons he can feel on her blouse. Devoid of this her chest is bare. He splays a hand over her breast, and Karen keens, a light moan that pierces right through him.

He has never experienced sex with his sight, but he wonders if it would be better. Somehow, sight seems like an unnecessary add on – he can feel Karen, touch her smooth skin, run her hair through his fingers; taste her, her sweat, the tang when he kisses her, when she tastes herself on his tongue; hear her moaning; the hiccup of breath before she comes, even smell the desire rolling off her skin.

It is enough.

More than enough.

She is more than enough.


End file.
